


Battle Wound

by fuzzytomato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzytomato/pseuds/fuzzytomato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for gwyntastic based on her prompt of Merlin/Gwaine h/c. Merlin shouldn’t even have been there. He wasn’t an agent. He wasn’t a cop. He was a civilian, albeit a magical one, but the powers that be had stuck some fancy title on him and said he was ready to go out into the field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Wound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwyntastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyntastic/gifts).



Merlin shouldn’t even have been there. He wasn’t an agent. He wasn’t a cop. He was a civilian, albeit a magical one, but the ‘powers that be’ had stuck some fancy title on him and said he was ready to go out into the field.

What the hell was a Magical Authority to the Department of Justice supposed to be anyway?

Gwaine knew he probably wasn’t supposed to be some _kid_ barely out of college that could move things with a flash of gold in his eyes and a shake of his hand. He probably wasn’t supposed to dress badly, have hair that always looked like he had just rolled out of bed, and have a thousand watt smile. He wasn’t supposed to be charming and idiotic, clumsy yet sure, intelligent but naïve and Gwaine knew for damn sure he wasn’t supposed to be lying on the floor, gasping, while a puddle of blood quickly grew around him.

“Merlin!” Gwaine yelled, dropping to his friend’s side, the hard concrete a shock to his knees and cold through the thin material of his trousers.

Merlin gasped again, his long pale fingers curling against the floor, trying to find purchase, something to hold on to as his body shook, but his fingers only slid along the smooth surface, stained red.

“Gwaine,” Merlin asked, eyelids fluttering, words slurred and thick, “is that you?”

“Yes, I’ve got you, Merlin,” Gwaine said, raking his eyes over Merlin’s twitching frame, settling on the wide, red stain engulfing his shoulder and another, slightly smaller, near his ribs. “Arthur!” he yelled, trying to remain calm but bordering on panic. His boss, the lead agent of their team, looked up from where he was handcuffing one of the perps.

“Gwaine?” he asked. “Is everything all right?”

“Radio for an ambulance,” Gwaine said as evenly as possible. “Agent down.”

His words produced a flurry of activity behind him and he knew now there was an urgency to the way Percy, Elyan and Lance rounded up the rest of the criminals and to the way Arthur yelled into his communicator to get a med team to their location right that damn second. Gwaine ignored the rest, the indignant cries of their captured thugs, the wail of sirens in the background, the smell of gun smoke filling up the small warehouse, and focused only on Merlin, his agonized features and his greying skin.

Gwaine was thankful Merlin had worn a button-down that day and he ripped it open, sending buttons skidding across the floor and garnering a groan from Merlin at the jostling.

Merlin whimpered, squirming away from Gwaine’s hands.

“I’m sorry, but I have to see. Hold still, Merlin,” he said as he peeled the fabric of Merlin’s undershirt away from the injuries. His hands were steady but they belied the fear and worry that was beginning to well in his throat. There was an awful lot of blood and though Merlin was conscious, his eyes were closed.

“I knew you… wanted to see me naked,” Merlin forced out between laboured breaths.

Gwaine smiled tightly. “This is a hell of a way to get my attention, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckled weakly but began to cough and writhe on the floor. Gwaine soothed him with a brush of his hand through Merlin’s messy hair.

“Don’t try to move.”

The wound at Merlin’s ribs was on a graze, a deep graze that would need stitches and time to heal, but the bullet had not embedded. It was bleeding steadily and needed a bandage and pressure.

Just as Gwaine thought it, Arthur was suddenly there, kneeling on Merlin’s other side, a kit from the squad car next to him.

“How bad?” Arthur asked Gwaine, voice laced with concern as he laid a comforting hand on Merlin’s brow, assessing the situation, much like Gwaine had.

“He needs an ambulance,” Gwaine answered, voice clipped with distress. He was scared, scared Merlin was going to bleed out in front of him, that this kid that had somehow wormed his way into their tight knit team was going die on his second mission, that Gwaine would have to call Merlin’s mother and tell her about her brave son that saved innocent people with magic but took two bullets himself.

They were trained professionals, all of them but Merlin, having gone through boot camps and training grounds, Quantico and special ops. It made them hard, formidable, shrewd, but Gwaine wouldn’t work with a man that didn’t gulp or pale at the sight of blood, especially that of a friend’s. Arthur wouldn’t either. It was with no shame or judgment that Gwaine took Arthur’s slightly trembling hand, pushed a wadded up bandage in it, and pressed it against Merlin’s side.

Merlin arched underneath them letting out a thin cry of pain at the pressure.

“Shhh,” Gwaine calmed, leaning close to Merlin’s ear. “It’s alright. Arthur is just stopping the bleeding.”

Merlin quieted, made a sound like a muffled whimper, but sluggishly turned his head in Gwaine’s direction. His eyes were slits, flashing gold, then blue then gold again.

Gwaine swore.

He quickly tore away the remaining fabric that hid the wound in Merlin’s shoulder from view. As he expected, there was a round hole from where the bullet entered but as he felt around the back of Merlin’s shoulder, there was no exit wound. It was still in there and from the looks of Merlin’s eyes, how his magic was false starting, like a bad engine, stalling and revving, it was an Inhibitor.

“Fuck,” Gwaine growled, as he put pressure on the injury. Merlin let out another cry, weaker this time, pained and it rattled Gwaine’s ability to stay calm. “Fuck,” he said again.

“What?” Arthur bit out.

“Inhibitor bullet. It’s lodged in his shoulder suppressing his magic.”

“Where the fuck is that ambulance?” Arthur swore as he shifted on the ground, the knees of his trousers stained red from Merlin’s blood. “They should’ve been here by now.”

Gwaine cupped Merlin’s face with his free hand, his palm running over the smooth line of Merlin’s jaw.

“Merlin,” he commanded, “look at me.”

Merlin lifted his gaze, stared at Gwaine through half-raised lids, his eyes continuing to spark gold then shut off, back to blue.

“Good,” Gwaine said, ignoring the way both his and Arthur’s bandages were soaked through, “look at me. You have to stop trying to reach for your magic. It’s only hurting you more. Do you understand? It’s an Inhibitor. I know you know what that is because you gave us that big lecture on weapons against sorcerers the day we met. Do you remember? You wouldn’t shut up about them.”

The side of Merlin’s mouth lifted in a very pathetic attempt at a smile, but it meant Merlin was listening. Gwaine stroked his thumb over the edge of Merlin’s cheekbone, a light caress, but he hoped it gave Merlin some measure of comfort.

“I do… what I can,” Merlin said, very faintly, his voice no more than a wheeze.

“Merlin,” Gwaine said, leaning close, Merlin’s fragile breath a ghost against his cheek, “I know Arthur loves your surly retorts but now is not the time.”

Arthur huffed before he started yelling again into his radio and while he was distracted, Gwaine pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead.

“You hold on, my friend, and there will be plenty more where that came from.”

The sirens were close now, and Gwaine was finally able to breathe. He felt Merlin’s clammy hand touch his, wrap loosely around his wrist and give a feeble squeeze. It was a promise, a pact between them and Gwaine looked forward to honoring it.


End file.
